The Session

                (A psychiatrist’s office.  DR. HELEN is with ANDREW.)

HELEN:  Well, Andrew, it appears as if this might be our last session.

ANDREW:  Yup.

HELEN:  I’m not sure what we could talk about, but—

ANDREW:  Actually, all I’d really like is…an apology.

HELEN:  An apology for what?

ANDREW:  Dr. Helen, what have you been treating me for?

HELEN:  Uh…well, a myriad of things—

ANDREW:  But mainly?

HELEN:  Uh, well—

ANDREW:  Paranoia, right?

HELEN:  Well…uh, yes.

ANDREW:  And…?

HELEN:  And…?

ANDREW:  I believe I’m owed an apology.

                (A beat.)

HELEN:  For being paranoid?

ANDREW:  Yes.

HELEN:  Andrew—

ANDREW:  Dr. Helen?

HELEN:  Your paranoia—

ANDREW:  Have I not been saying for the past two years that something terrible was going to happen to me?

HELEN:  You’ve had some irrational fears, yes.

ANDREW:  Oh, I don’t know if I’d call them irrational.  After all, a comet is coming right at us as we speak.

HELEN:  It might miss us.

ANDREW:  It won’t.  You may have tried to steer me away from my perfectly logical fears throughout the course of our relationship, Dr. Helen, but now I’m back on track.  I’m scared as hell and it feels really, really good.

HELEN:  Andrew, nobody could have predicted—

ANDREW:  What did I say on March 12^th of last year?

HELEN:  I really can’t—

ANDREW:  Luckily, I document all our sessions.

                (He takes a small notepad out of his pocket and flips to a certain page, then reads--)

“Discussed with Dr. Helen my fear of a comet hitting the Earth.”

HELEN:  Andrew, over the past two years, you’ve developed fears of everything a person could think of.  Spiders, snakes, elevators, furniture with legs—

ANDREW:  It looks like it’s going to crawl towards me.

HELEN:  --Joyce Carol Oates—

ANDREW:  Have you SEEN Joyce Carol Oates?  She looks like somebody locked Shelley Duvall in a dark closet for six years!

HELEN:  And yes, maybe one day, we talked about you having a fear of a comet hitting the Earth, but that doesn’t mean anything.

ANDREW:  I’m sorry, but is my psychiatrist actually telling me that something I feared means nothing.

HELEN:  In this case, yes.  The quantity of your fears as opposed to their actual content is what seems more relevant.

ANDREW:  But I was right.

HELEN:  Andrew—

ANDREW:  I was right about the comet.

HELEN:  That doesn’t make it any less rational of a fear.

ANDREW:  Of course it does!  It’s happening!

HELEN:  If you hit enough baseballs, eventually you’ll hit a homerun.

ANDREW:  I would never hit a baseball.  Or pick up a bat.  Do you know how many sports-related injuries there are every year?

HELEN:  If it makes you feel better to think that your paranoia was somehow justified, then that’s fine.  But what I was trying to do was help you to live a better life in spite of your fears.

ANDREW:  Well that’s never going to be possible again.  Even if this comet doesn’t hit, how can I ever truly relax again?  Knowing that pieces of space rock are just floating around up there waiting to come down and crush all of us?  It’s paralyzing.

HELEN:  Andrew, did I ever tell you how my husband died?

ANDREW:  No, but that’s probably because I don’t pay you to talk about yourself.

HELEN:  Indulge me.

ANDREW:  Fine, go ahead.

HELEN:  My husband died of an aneurysm a few years ago.  One day he was fine, the next day he was dead.  He was perfectly healthy.  We had a cruise planned.  Everything was fine, and then the world exploded.  That was it.

                (A beat.)

ANDREW:  Why on Earth would you tell me such a horrible story?

HELEN:  Because I want you to see that you really can’t predict or plan for anything, so you have to just live life in the moment.

ANDREW:  But—

HELEN:  Andrew, even now, in this moment—you’re sitting in your psychiatrist’s office talking to me instead of going out and doing something with what might be your last few hours alive.

ANDREW:  Then why are you here?

HELEN:  Because I care about you, and I knew everything that was going on would unnerve you, so I agreed to come in for a special session, even though it’s the weekend, and I’d, honestly, rather be doing anything else than listen to you talk about how your landlord is poisoning you using the air vents in your apartment.

ANDREW:  So you do think I’m right about that?

HELEN:  Andrew, you have to make the most of the time you have left.

ANDREW:  What if I don’t want to?

HELEN:  Then go home and—I can’t even imagine what it is you do when you’re not here.  We rarely talk about it.

ANDREW:  Mostly I just watch the Food Network and try not to breathe too much.

HELEN:  Okay, then do that, if it’s really what you want to do.

ANDREW:  It’s not what I want to do.  It’s all I can do without panicking.

HELEN:  But why panic?  The worst is over.  The world is going to end.  You’re free, Andrew.  You don’t have to worry anymore.  You are going to die.  Just like we’re all going to die, just like we’ve always known we were all going to die, it’s just that now we have the details.  So what do you have to be afraid of now?

                (A beat.)

ANDREW:  I don’t know what to…I wouldn’t even know where to start.  I mean, being somebody else—than, you know, who I’ve been.

HELEN:  Go outside.  Go anywhere outside.  Hell, walk to a gas station and just sit on the curb for a few hours.  Look at people.  Be around them.  Try throwing yourself into humanity for a little while and see if it does you any good.  I think it will.  Once you do that, you don’t have to plan.  I mean, you can if you want to, but…Even if we get lucky this weekend, there are going to be other comets.

ANDREW:  My whole life has been comets.  One after another.

HELEN:  I’ll tell you what—if furniture ever starts walking, I give you permission to lock yourself away in a room somewhere and never come out.  Or I could just have you committed, whichever’s easier.

ANDREW:  Promise?

                (She smiles.)

I’m a real pain in the ass, aren’t I?

HELEN:  Fear is the only thing that stops most people from being who they could be.  I was afraid for a long time too, after my husband died.

ANDREW:  So what did you do?  Fling yourself into humanity?

HELEN:  No, I just…thought about what I was really off—that time might be running out, and instead of letting it cripple me, I thought—Well, I’d better get moving.

                (A moment.)

ANDREW:  Thank you.

HELEN:  Hey, that’s what you pay me for.

ANDREW:  Not nearly enough though, right?

HELEN:  Oh God, not NEARLY enough.

                (She laughs.  He smiles.)

Social Work

                (The hospital.  HOWARD is sitting down in a waiting room.  CINDY enters.)

CINDY:  Hello.

                (HOWARD looks at her.)

HOWARD:  Hi.

CINDY:  My name’s Cindy.  I’m assuming you’re Howard?

HOWARD:  Hi.

CINDY:  Hi!  I know I should call you Mr. So-and-So but I find it’s better to be as casual as possible if you want to put people at ease.

HOWARD:  Hi.

CINDY:  Hello there!  Sooo I’m here to talk to you about the impending evacuation.

HOWARD:  Huh?

CINDY:  We’re evacuating the hospital.  In case the comet does hit.  We just want to be prepared.  We’ll be sending most of the staff home over the next few hours.

HOWARD:  Where?

CINDY:  What?

HOWARD:  Where—are you evacuating everybody to?

CINDY:  Oh, well—funny story.  We’re not actually evacuating everybody TO somewhere.  We’re just, sort of, evacuating.

HOWARD:  So you’re fleeing?

CINDY:  Well, I wouldn’t say—Yes.  Fleeing.  Yeah, I guess that about sums it up.

HOWARD:  What about the patients?

CINDY:  Well, that’s what I’m here to talk to you about.

HOWARD:  Who are you?

CINDY:  I’m a social worker here at the hospital.

HOWARD:  What are you like twelve?

CINDY:  I’m—no.  I’m not twelve.  I’d appreciate it if you talked to me like an adult.

HOWARD:  What’s your name?

CINDY:  Cindy.

HOWARD:  Cindy?  Like from The Brady Bunch?

CINDY:  There are other Cindy’s.  Cindy Lauper, Cindy—

HOWARD:  Nobody serious has ever been named Cindy.  You should have gone into a different line of work like pet grooming or designing bubble gum wrappers.

CINDY:  I realize you’re only saying hurtful things because you’re scared.  That’s totally normal.  I understand your mother has been unresponsive for quite some time—

HOWARD:  If you’re here to tell me that you’re leaving my mother to die—

CINDY:  We’re not leaving anybody—

HOWARD:  So somebody’s going to stay here with her and make sure she doesn’t die?

CINDY:  …Well…in the event that the comet doesn’t hit—

HOWARD:  But if it does?

CINDY:  Look—

HOWARD:  Because it’s probably going to.

CINDY:  Howard—

HOWARD:  There’s an eighty percent chance.

CINDY:  I—

HOWARD:  Eighty percent.

CINDY:  I realize—

HOWARD:  And please don’t call me Howard.

CINDY:  We’re leaving.  We’re all leaving.  People…doctors and…everybody wants to be home with their families when and if this thing hits.  So…we’re all just going to—Well, I can’t say this for the hospital, but…I’m going to pray.  And…that’s the best we can do right now.

HOWARD:  So you came to tell me you’re quitting.  Great.  Thanks.  See you on Monday if this thing is a big miss.  At which point, I’ll be moving my mother to another hospital where they actually give a damn about their patients.

CINDY:  First of all, there isn’t a hospital in this state, probably this whole country, that isn’t doing the exact same thing we’re doing.  Second of all, though I can appreciate how tired and stressed out you must be, there is a very good chance we are all about to die, so you can find somebody else to lay all your attitude on, because you’re the 100^th relative I’ve dealt with today, so I’m officially out of kindness and patience.  And finally, I’m not here because of your mother.  I’m here because of you.

HOWARD:  I’m sorry?

CINDY:  Your mother is being prepped as we speak.  Theoretically, if nothing goes wrong, or any more wrong than it is already, she should be fine for the day or so the hospital will be…vacant.  There’s a very good chance that if she dies, she’ll just be dying with the rest of us.  The reason I’m here is because we’re trying to convince people’s relatives and friends that they should maybe consider, uh, going home?

HOWARD:  You want me to leave her?

CINDY:  I want you to consider it.

HOWARD:  She’s my mother.

CINDY:  I get that.

HOWARD:  She’s my mother.

CINDY:  Do you think she’d want you dying in a hospital staring at her hoping she’s going to wake up in time to run for shelter?

HOWARD:  Are you listening to yourself?

CINDY:  Yes, and everything I’m saying to you right now would normally get me fired, but things are a little wacky right now, so I’m just going to go for it.  You need to get out of here.

HOWARD:  Would you leave your mother here?

CINDY:  Yes, but we have a very complicated relationship.

HOWARD:  Is that what you’re telling the mothers in the natal care unit to do?  Leave their premature babies behind?

CINDY:  Your mother is not a premature baby.  She’s a woman who’s been in a coma for a significant amount of time.

HOWARD:  I—

CINDY:  She’s not going to wake up.  Chances are she was never going to wake up.  She’s comfortable.  Or maybe she’s not, I don’t know.  There’s really no way of knowing, but what we DO know is that whether you’re here or not—

HOWARD:  But what if I’m not?  What if she wakes up and I’m not here?

CINDY:  It—

HOWARD:  The Walking Dead.

CINDY:  What?

HOWARD:  On The Walking Dead, Rick wakes up and nobody’s there.  They left him.  They just left him there.  And he could have been eaten—by zombies.

CINDY:  Nobody’s predicting zombies.

HOWARD:  I don’t want her to die alone!

                (A moment.)

CINDY:  Then you need to make another decision.

                (A beat.)

HOWARD:  What?

CINDY:  You…just think about…alternatives.

HOWARD:  You’re not—

CINDY:  Do you have any other family?

HOWARD:  Uh, my brother, he—He’s an actor.  He was supposed to—He had a show today, but I think it was cancelled.  He’s on his way.

CINDY:  Okay, well…When he gets here, maybe you should have a talk with him about…options.

HOWARD:  This is…surreal.

CINDY:  You need to really concentrate on the facts.  At a time like this, it’s easy to slip into…denial or…a sort of blind hope.  And hope is okay, it’s fine to have hope, but you also have to really look at and digest the facts, and the facts are—This hospital is going to be a ghost town pretty soon, so time is…

                (A moment.)

HOWARD:  Right.

CINDY:  Can I help with anything?  Do you want me to wait with you until your brother gets here?  Like I said, you’re my last consultation of the day so—

HOWARD:  I’ll be all right.

CINDY:  Are you sure?

HOWARD:  Well…No.  But…Go home.  Call your mom.

CINDY:  (Scoffs.)  Like I said, my Mom and I are more—

HOWARD:  Complicated?  Trust me.  It’s not that complicated.

CINDY:  Right.

                (A moment.)

Right.

                (Short pause.)

It was nice meeting you, Howard.

HOWARD:  You too, Cindy.

                (She puts her hand on his shoulder, and then exits.  HOWARD sits.)

The Beach

(A beach.  ELISE is looking out at the ocean.  BRADY appears in boxer shorts looking damp.)

BRADY:  Hi.

            (She turns.)

ELISE:  Hi.

BRADY:  It’s hot.

ELISE:  Really…hot.

BRADY:  I was just in the water and I’m already dry.

ELISE:  There’s, like, nobody on the beach.

BRADY:  That’s because there’s a tsunami watch.

ELISE:  Really?

BRADY:  Well, if the comet hits the ocean—

ELISE:  Shoot.  I should probably—

BRADY:  The thing is, no matter where it hits, we’re still screwed.  I mean, a comet that size hits the planet—it won’t really matter where you are.

ELISE:  Yeah, I guess you have a point.

BRADY:  I’m Brady.

ELISE:  I’m Elise.  Nice to meet you.

            (They shake hands.)

BRADY:  Do you, uh, I don’t know—come here often?

            (She laughs.)

ELISE:  My family has a house down that way.

            (She motions offstage.)

BRADY:  My family has a house too…in Pawtucket.  So…

            (He motions north.)

…That way.

ELISE:  So you heard there was a tsunami coming and you decided to drive down here and jump in the ocean?

BRADY:  I tend to, uh—embrace my fears.

ELISE:  Good for you.

BRADY:  You should have a party down at your house.

ELISE:  A party?

BRADY:  Yeah, like a hurricane party, except a ‘Hey, the World’s Ending’ party.

ELISE:  My neighbor had a hurricane party a few years ago.

BRADY:  Oh yeah, did you go?

ELISE:  No, my mom wouldn’t let me.

BRADY:  That’s too bad.

ELISE:  Not really.  Everybody died.

BRADY:  Seriously?

ELISE:  No—sorry.  I have a morbid sense of humor.

BRADY:  It’s okay I—anyway, consider the party then.  I wouldn’t mind dancing a little before the world ends.

ELISE:  I don’t know if anyone would, uh…I don’t usually live here—during the year.  I go to prep school, or I did.  I graduated in May.  And during the summer, I just kind of keep to myself.  I’m not, uh, the best—with people.

BRADY:  That must be hard.  Going back and forth from one place to another.  Where’s your prep school?

ELISE:  New York.  I took the train out of there this morning.  I think I caught the last one.  Everyone’s in such a panic.  I was going to stay there instead of coming back here for the summer since my whole family’s in Europe, but New York is losing its mind, so I figured—why stay?  At least it’s quieter here.

BRADY:  Well especially by the beach.

ELISE:  Yeah.  If you didn’t know better, you’d think everything was fine.  The water’s calm, the sand is cool, the air feels really—light.

BRADY:  I guess the world doesn’t know it’s about to explode.

ELISE:  I guess not.

BRADY:  You know, I did want to com here, but, uh, I didn’t really have a choice in terms of—Um…I got thrown out.  Of my house.

ELISE:  Somebody threw you out of your house?

BRADY:  My mom’s boyfriend.

ELISE:  Is it his house?

BRADY:  No, it’s my Mom’s, but…she sort of...agreed with him.

ELISE:  Agreed with him about what?

BRADY:  Agreed that he should be able to slap her around without me stepping in between them and busting his lip wide open.

ELISE:  So he—they kicked you out?

BRADY:  Told me to get lost.

ELISE:  But the comet—

BRADY:  My mom grabbed me out on the front porch—told me to drive until I couldn’t drive anymore.  She doesn’t get the whole ‘it doesn’t matter where you are’ thing either.  I guess when you’re somewhere as bad as she is, anyplace seems better.  So she told me to drive.  Might be the last thing she’ll ever say to me.

ELISE:  The last thing my mother said to me was ‘We’ll see you when we get back from Italy.’  She’s not answering her phone.  I’m not sure if I should be worried or offended.

BRADY:  Do you not get along?

ELISE:  It’s not so much that we don’t get along as it is that we, uh, barely know each other.  I know, I know—poor little rich girl.  Guilty as charged.

BRADY:  You want to go for a swim?

ELISE:  In the ocean?

BRADY:  No, in a water fountain.  Yeah, in the ocean.

ELISE:  The---

BRADY:  It’s fine now.  Like you said—it’s calm.  Calm before the storm.  We just have to get out before the storm.  We have a few hours at least—that’s if it hits at all.

ELISE:  You know I don’t even know you—

BRADY:  It’s just a swim, not a prom.

ELISE:  I, uh, I—

BRADY:  What?

ELISE:  I don’t know how to swim.

            (He laughs.)

BRADY:  Sooooooo we’ll go in up to your knees, or waist, or whatever makes you feel comfortable.

ELISE:  Can I, uh, um…hang onto you?

            (A moment.)

BRADY:  Sure.

ELISE:  You know, in case there’s a riptide or whatever.

BRADY:  Yeah, that’s—of course.

ELISE:  You don’t mind?

BRADY:  Not at all.  I’m used to people hanging onto me for dear life.

ELISE:  Okay, um, well, I don’t have a bathing suit.

BRADY:  You know these are boxers, right?

ELISE:  Yeah.  They’re really ugly by the way.

BRADY:  Thanks.  I wasn’t really anticipating anybody seeing them.

ELISE:  Mine are even—I mean, I’m not wearing boxers, but—What I have on under here is—they’re bad.

BRADY:  Bad like scandalous bad or—

ELISE:  Bad like Sister Wife Number Three Bad.  Like, clearance rack at Target bad.

BRADY:  Ohhhhh that bad.

ELISE:  Yeah.

BRADY:  Well…I won’t tell if you won’t.  About my ugly boxers and your Target underwear, I mean.

            (A moment.)

ELISE:  Okay.

BRADY:  Okay?

ELISE:  Okay.

            (A moment.)

BRADY:  Get undressed.  I’ll meet you out there.

ELISE:  Okay.

            (He starts to run off, then runs back and kisses her.)

BRADY:  You know—just in case one of those riptides comes along.

            (He smiles.  She smiles.  He runs off.  A moment.)

ELISE:  Oh my God, if the world ends now it’ll be so unfair.

            (She runs off towards the ocean.)(A beach.  ELISE is looking out at the ocean.  BRADY appears in boxer shorts looking damp.)

BRADY:  Hi.

            (She turns.)

ELISE:  Hi.

BRADY:  It’s hot.

ELISE:  Really…hot.

BRADY:  I was just in the water and I’m already dry.

ELISE:  There’s, like, nobody on the beach.

BRADY:  That’s because there’s a tsunami watch.

ELISE:  Really?

BRADY:  Well, if the comet hits the ocean—

ELISE:  Shoot.  I should probably—

BRADY:  The thing is, no matter where it hits, we’re still screwed.  I mean, a comet that size hits the planet—it won’t really matter where you are.

ELISE:  Yeah, I guess you have a point.

BRADY:  I’m Brady.

ELISE:  I’m Elise.  Nice to meet you.

            (They shake hands.)

BRADY:  Do you, uh, I don’t know—come here often?

            (She laughs.)

ELISE:  My family has a house down that way.

            (She motions offstage.)

BRADY:  My family has a house too…in Pawtucket.  So…

            (He motions north.)

…That way.

ELISE:  So you heard there was a tsunami coming and you decided to drive down here and jump in the ocean?

BRADY:  I tend to, uh—embrace my fears.

ELISE:  Good for you.

BRADY:  You should have a party down at your house.

ELISE:  A party?

BRADY:  Yeah, like a hurricane party, except a ‘Hey, the World’s Ending’ party.

ELISE:  My neighbor had a hurricane party a few years ago.

BRADY:  Oh yeah, did you go?

ELISE:  No, my mom wouldn’t let me.

BRADY:  That’s too bad.

ELISE:  Not really.  Everybody died.

BRADY:  Seriously?

ELISE:  No—sorry.  I have a morbid sense of humor.

BRADY:  It’s okay I—anyway, consider the party then.  I wouldn’t mind dancing a little before the world ends.

ELISE:  I don’t know if anyone would, uh…I don’t usually live here—during the year.  I go to prep school, or I did.  I graduated in May.  And during the summer, I just kind of keep to myself.  I’m not, uh, the best—with people.

BRADY:  That must be hard.  Going back and forth from one place to another.  Where’s your prep school?

ELISE:  New York.  I took the train out of there this morning.  I think I caught the last one.  Everyone’s in such a panic.  I was going to stay there instead of coming back here for the summer since my whole family’s in Europe, but New York is losing its mind, so I figured—why stay?  At least it’s quieter here.

BRADY:  Well especially by the beach.

ELISE:  Yeah.  If you didn’t know better, you’d think everything was fine.  The water’s calm, the sand is cool, the air feels really—light.

BRADY:  I guess the world doesn’t know it’s about to explode.

ELISE:  I guess not.

BRADY:  You know, I did want to com here, but, uh, I didn’t really have a choice in terms of—Um…I got thrown out.  Of my house.

ELISE:  Somebody threw you out of your house?

BRADY:  My mom’s boyfriend.

ELISE:  Is it his house?

BRADY:  No, it’s my Mom’s, but…she sort of...agreed with him.

ELISE:  Agreed with him about what?

BRADY:  Agreed that he should be able to slap her around without me stepping in between them and busting his lip wide open.

ELISE:  So he—they kicked you out?

BRADY:  Told me to get lost.

ELISE:  But the comet—

BRADY:  My mom grabbed me out on the front porch—told me to drive until I couldn’t drive anymore.  She doesn’t get the whole ‘it doesn’t matter where you are’ thing either.  I guess when you’re somewhere as bad as she is, anyplace seems better.  So she told me to drive.  Might be the last thing she’ll ever say to me.

ELISE:  The last thing my mother said to me was ‘We’ll see you when we get back from Italy.’  She’s not answering her phone.  I’m not sure if I should be worried or offended.

BRADY:  Do you not get along?

ELISE:  It’s not so much that we don’t get along as it is that we, uh, barely know each other.  I know, I know—poor little rich girl.  Guilty as charged.

BRADY:  You want to go for a swim?

ELISE:  In the ocean?

BRADY:  No, in a water fountain.  Yeah, in the ocean.

ELISE:  The---

BRADY:  It’s fine now.  Like you said—it’s calm.  Calm before the storm.  We just have to get out before the storm.  We have a few hours at least—that’s if it hits at all.

ELISE:  You know I don’t even know you—

BRADY:  It’s just a swim, not a prom.

ELISE:  I, uh, I—

BRADY:  What?

ELISE:  I don’t know how to swim.

            (He laughs.)

BRADY:  Sooooooo we’ll go in up to your knees, or waist, or whatever makes you feel comfortable.

ELISE:  Can I, uh, um…hang onto you?

            (A moment.)

BRADY:  Sure.

ELISE:  You know, in case there’s a riptide or whatever.

BRADY:  Yeah, that’s—of course.

ELISE:  You don’t mind?

BRADY:  Not at all.  I’m used to people hanging onto me for dear life.

ELISE:  Okay, um, well, I don’t have a bathing suit.

BRADY:  You know these are boxers, right?

ELISE:  Yeah.  They’re really ugly by the way.

BRADY:  Thanks.  I wasn’t really anticipating anybody seeing them.

ELISE:  Mine are even—I mean, I’m not wearing boxers, but—What I have on under here is—they’re bad.

BRADY:  Bad like scandalous bad or—

ELISE:  Bad like Sister Wife Number Three Bad.  Like, clearance rack at Target bad.

BRADY:  Ohhhhh that bad.

ELISE:  Yeah.

BRADY:  Well…I won’t tell if you won’t.  About my ugly boxers and your Target underwear, I mean.

            (A moment.)

ELISE:  Okay.

BRADY:  Okay?

ELISE:  Okay.

            (A moment.)

BRADY:  Get undressed.  I’ll meet you out there.

ELISE:  Okay.

            (He starts to run off, then runs back and kisses her.)

BRADY:  You know—just in case one of those riptides comes along.

            (He smiles.  She smiles.  He runs off.  A moment.)

ELISE:  Oh my God, if the world ends now it’ll be so unfair.

            (She runs off towards the ocean.)